


Rain, Rain, Go Away

by PeachWord



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Eating Disorders, Food Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological issues, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachWord/pseuds/PeachWord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Neal's FBI sting goes as planned, bad guys are put away except for one...and he was the most dangerous of them all. Neal attempts to deal, but he is unsuccessful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He couldn’t stop feeling the rough hands lingering on him; he couldn't stop smelling the scent filling his nostrils; he couldn't stop feeling the hoarseness in his throat caused by the screams. 

Donald "Donnie" Reed took what little innocence Neal had left in his system and destroyed it. He charred; burned it so badly that Neal knew it would never return again.

The first time Neal met Donnie was six weeks ago. The FBI was surveying his boss, Ramon Chase, a well known curator at a classy art gallery who ran a bond forgery ring in the back room. Donnie was Ramon’s right hand. He was tall, well-built, and athletic. Neal posed as a wealthy art collector and gained Ramon’s trust. When the magic words were spoken, and Ramon proposed a forgery job for him, the transmitter in his watch alerted the boys in the van. It was over before it ever really began. 

But while Neal was running the 'con' for those three days, it was unquestionable the liking Donnie took to him. Neal embraced it, that was part of his charm, his allure--his deceit. 

In the end, Roman got 25 years in the federal penitentiary. Donnie got a light slap on the wrist.

There wasn’t enough evidence to link him directly.

Neal didn’t think too much about the whole thing, not really, it was on to the next one. It was the pretend he cared out, the shell of another person he was able to explore for those three days or four days. He was able to flawlessly transform into another person, with another personality, with a different life.

But perhaps Neal should have cared, just a little, about Donnie's lingering stares or the handshakes that lasted a second too long. Though that would be unfair to plague him with such foresight. After all, know one could really tell the future. 

So now it was almost ten days since _that_ night. The night that transformed Neal into a fragment of what he used to be. He couldn’t sleep anymore because every time, every damn time he closed his eyes, the movie in his head would turn on and it didn’t turn off unless he woke up, gasping for air, rubbing the sweat mixed in with his tears streaming out of his eyes.

*****************

"You’re home, finally," Donnie said, stepping into the light.

“What are you doing here? How did you find out where I live?” Neal asked.

“You checked me out, I checked you out.”

“What do you want?” Neal said, keeping his hand on the door. 

“My boss and I had a good thing going. How do you suppose I’m going to pay my mortgage next month now that he's in prison?” he asked, holding his knife up.

“I’m sure you could find another job Donnie. You obviously have very special skills.”

“No one will hire me, now that everyone knows who Ramon really is.” 

“I could make a few calls. I know people. People who don’t care about those kinds of things--”

“Step away from the door.”

Neal knew he had two options. Listen, or make a run for it. He opted for the latter.

The adrenaline ran through his blood as he stepped into the hallway, but before he could even touch the banister he felt a harsh grip around his arm. A hand was placed over his mouth and he was dragged back into his room. Once the door slammed shut he was thrown to the ground. He could already feel the warmness from the wound on his forehead before he opened his eyes.

The sound of the door locking made his stomach curl into knots.

“Donnie, we can work this out, okay?” 

Donnie responded by kicking him in the stomach. “Yes, we most definitely will.”

********************

“What’s wrong, hun?” El asked, handing her husband a bottle of beer.

“I just think it’s strange that Neal hasn’t left his apartment since Friday. I’ve never known him to stay in one place for over 48 hours,” he said, glancing down at his outdated Blackberry.

“Maybe he wanted to take it easy. He's allowed, you know.”

“Maybe.”

“You’ll ask him tomorrow.”

********************

Donnie;s hand was placed firmly around Neal's neck while the other was intertwined in his hair. “You’re not pretty when you cry.” After a few more agonizing minutes, he pulled away.

“Stop,” Neal whispered. His throat was raw and he knew he couldn't speak any louder. A strong backhand across his already swollen cheek was the response. Neal felt the metallic liquid drip out of his mouth.  “Please!” he cried, trying desperately to break free from the ropes around his wrists.

He cringed when he felt the hands roam his stomach. “You are so beautiful, Neal. You’re smooth abs and muscles. It should be a crime.”

“No . . . don’t . . ." He couldn’t take another go. “Stop.”  

“Tell me you like it.”

Neal couldn’t say anything, the pain was too much, but he fought the best he could by shaking his head. He hated that the tears leaking from his eyes, but they were involuntary. 

“Turn your head and look at me,” Donnie said, grabbing his jaw.

Neal kept his eyes shut. He wouldn’t look at this monster. “Stop,” he whispered again.

“I know you like to con people, but you’re not fooling anyone. I know it doesn’t hurt. I know it feels good.”

Neal cried. He cried when he felt the nails dig into his sides and then he cried some more when the warm body collapsed on top of him.

*********************

It was almost 9 a.m. and Peter was getting peeved as he called Neal for the fourth time. He was twenty-eight minutes late. He watched the tracking information on the screen in front of him. Same spot as it was all weekend.

“Hey boss, good weekend?” Jones asked.

“No complaints, you?” he responded as he kept his eyes on the screen.

“Pretty good. Uh, you okay there?”

“Feel like taking a ride uptown?”

“I’m sure this has to do with Caffrey.”

**********************.

Peter only had to knock once before a maid opened the door.

“Hello, Agent Burke,” she said.

“I'm here for Neal” he said, stepping in.

“I didn’t even know Mr. Caffrey was here. Of course.”

“Oh. You don’t go up there?” Jones asked.

“Oh no. Ms. June instructed us that we are to not go in there, that is Mr. Caffrey’s space.”

“I see. Is June here?” Peter asked.

“No, sir, she has been out of town for the past week.”

“Nice life,” Jones commented as he followed his boss up the stairs.

“I swear if he is holed up in there with some model . . .” Peter muttered under his breath. His knuckles were centimeters from making contact with the wooden door, but then, then he heard the distinct sound of a groan--and not a pleasant one. He held his finger to his mouth, signaling to Jones keep quiet.

“This is your own fault, Caffrey. You’re so goddamn stupid.”

That voice . . . it sounded vaguely familiar. Peter reached for his holster.

“Don’t . . . I . . . can’t,” Neal stuttered. Fresh blood ran down his chin; sticky, hot and oozing from his nose.

“How about one more time before I leave?” Donnie asked.

Peter didn’t need to hear anymore. He pushed the door open, his gun aimed at whomever the hell was in there, and as soon as he realized the situation he focused his attention to the man with a knife standing over the bed.

“Step away from him now,” Peter commanded.

“Agent Burke. Took you long enough. I told you, Caffrey, he wouldn’t come until he needed to use you. See, you’re a whore, no matter which way you slice it,” Donnie said.

Peter recognized the voice. He spent countless hours interrogating him, studying his smug grin, his insane eyes. His eyes widened as he finally saw Neal. His wrists were tightly bound; dark purple bruises mixed with red blood. This was not what made his stomach rise to his chest though. It was the way Neal's eyes were squeezed shut and the tears that streaked down his face. Peter knew he could handle a slap or two, a punch or three . . . but he never cried.  

“It’s okay, Neal,” Peter forced out.

Jones moved quickly and quietly and suddenly lunged. Donnie went flying to the ground and the knife was knocked across the room. It was only when he was in handcuffs did Peter lower his weapon and run to the bed. 

“Shit,” he said under his breath. He untied the ropes as quickly as he could. Neal kept his eyes shut as he brought his wrists down to his chest. He turned over onto his side and curled into a ball.

He gasped when he saw the bruises on the younger man's back, as well as the deep scratches and dried blood. 

Then Peter lost any color remaining in his face.

There was blood on the sheets . . . and dark red spots on Neal’s blue boxers. He turned to Donnie. “What did you do to him?” 

Donnie smiled as Jones pulled him from the floor. “He loved it.”

“Neal,” Peter said softly. 

Neal didn’t want to see the look of disgust in his eyes and kept his eyes closed. “I . . . I tried to stop . . .”

“Neal, look at me, please.”

“Tell him you loved it, Neal. Tell him,” Donnie said.

“Shut your goddamn mouth!” Jones yelled.

Peter glanced at Donnie and then quickly looked away.

Those eyes.

They were so deranged. 

*********************

“Just a few bites,” Peter said, pushing forward the tray of food.

Neal shook his head. “’Tired,” he mumbled.

Peter sighed. It was day four at the hospital. The bruising on Neal's face were still visible, lightened only slightly. It was hard for Peter to look at the ones shaped like fingers on his jaw, not to mention the ones that were hidden underneath the gown.

He knew what they meant.

He also knew the physical pain would pass, but the rest, the rest would settle deep inside.

When they brought Neal in, he was too weak to stand up on his own. Peter helped him, gently holding him up by him arm as they photographed him. He was so angry--one more more humiliating act.

He made Peter leave the room while they performed the _real_ exam on him, the kind Neal never thought he would have to go through. Peter said he didn’t mind staying but Neal told him he needed him to not be there.

When he was done being poked and prodded, touched again by unwanted hands, he was then pumped full of drugs. He slept for a full thirty hours but before the haze took reign over him he told Peter not to let Mozzie visit him. He didn’t want him to see this.

Peter simply nodded, for he knew if Mozzie saw this then he would never look at Neal the way he was supposed to.

****************

“Hey,” Peter said as he entered Neal’s room on the seventh day.

Silence greeted him. 

“The doctor says if you eat something, you can go home today.”

Again, more silence.

“June has prepared another room for you . . . at the other end of the house . . .or you can always come to my house. El and I would love to have you.”

Peter pushed the tray of food closer to the bed. 

“Just a few bites, okay? Look its blueberry.”

Neal's glassy eyes focused on the lump of processed sugar. He wasn’t hungry. In fact, eating was the last thing on his mind . . . but he did want to get leave. He didn’t want any more doctors or nurses touching him . . . placing their hands on him in the middle of the night or when he was sleeping. And so, he took a small bite but it tasted rotten. He tried again, but still, it tasted rotten.

_Chew and swallow. Chew and swallow. It's not so hard._

Peter exhaled in relief as he saw his fragile friend finally eating. He knew he had been to hell and back and probably had no appetite, but he needed his energy and strength. He turned his attention to the television, but after a few minutes he heard the whimpers.

There was no blood, no fresh cuts, no fresh bruises. Just Neal sitting with his hands on the muffin. Single tears fell vertically down his paled face. “What’s wrong?” Peter asked feverishly.

“Everything.”


	2. Chapter 2

Neal sighed, trying hard to focus on the file in front of him. An hour ago, Peter told him to go home, but there was nothing to do in that strange new part of June's house that he had never been to before except think . . . or sleep his way into a fit of hellish nightmares. Though he learned it didn't matter where was; he could be at the office, Central Park, Mozzie's cramped storage unit. . . he would find no peace in any of those places. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull any cons with Mozzie. Nothing felt right since that night five weeks ago.

He kept his head down most of the time now. Realization after realization coming to fruition in his criss-crossed head. He realized the other agents hated him. They would never talk with him anymore, never joke around, never even make any snide comments. It all stopped since that first day back after the . . .ordeal. They couldn't waste their time with _him_. He could just feel them bearing their eyes into him, judging him, thinking of what they couldn’t say: here was Neal Caffrey, a con man who supposedly could talk his way out of any situation. He proved that theory wrong didn't he? They were disgusted by him. He knew they thought he was a fraud, so what was he doing here amongst _them_? He didn’t deserve to be here. He deserved to be in prison, rotting. Neal also realized that Donnie didn't want to kill him that night, he wanted to destroy him--just the way Neal supposedly destroyed him and his career.

Apparently they both fulfilled their respective goals.

He sipped on his cold coffee, trying to settle the rumble in his stomach. His body was telling him he was hungry but he knew better than that, he knew he didn’t deserve to eat. Every time he nibbled on a piece of toast or swallowed a spoonful of yogurt, Donnie's hands were on him.  That animal's voice echoing in his ear-- musing over his abs, telling him how beautiful he was. That’s why he was attracted to him, right? Neal realized that if he could just get rid of those abs and muscles, then Donnie would never want him like that again . . .  _no one_ would want him.

He would be safe, and he desperately wanted to be safe.

So it became routine for Neal to go home every day after work and undress in his bathroom. He would stare at his body in the mirror, pinching at the flesh that covered his bones. He needed this to go away. Sometimes he would get dizzy. There were a few times he couldn’t help but sink to the floor of his apartment in utter exhaustion. When his stomach growled he involuntarily saw Donnie's face, growling into his eardrum that he was beautiful. When the hunger became too much he tried to settle it with tea, an apple here and there, and when that didn’t do the trick he would pinch his thighs; the disgust overcame him every time and the refrigerator door would remain slammed shut.

************************

Due to his natural nature, Peter noticed things, a lot of things that many people missed. He noticed Neal was withdrawn, quiet, alone. He became introverted in a way that Peter didn’t think was possible. But he couldn’t say he was surprised. He suggested that he talk about his feelings. He told him he would always be there to listen and that if he didn’t want that then maybe a therapist. Neal would just shake his head calmly and force a smile, telling him every time that he was okay.

Peter also noticed the circles under Neal’s eyes becoming darker day by day, his blue eyes duller and duller, his face gaunt, his suits becoming looser on his already slim frame. He couldn’t afford to lose the little weight he had on him.

“You’re coming over for dinner tonight,” Peter said as he stood in front of Neal’s desk. He saw Neal flinch out of his daydream. He looked up, his eyes red with exhaustion.

“Actually I--”

“No, dinner tonight. Elizabeth is making pasta, with the sauce that you like. End of story,” he said firmly followed by an encouraging smile.

Neal forced another smile. “Okay, thanks.”

Neal's forced smiled remained on his face throughout the meal. He forced himself to eat. He had to. They were watching him closely. He felt his stomach expand with each mouthful.

“More?” Elizabeth asked as she stood up to put more spaghetti on his plate.

He put his hands up, “No, that was wonderful. Thanks, Elizabeth.” 

She nodded and fought back the urge to feed him more. Her husband was right, Neal looked ill.

By the time he got back to his apartment he didn’t even need to stick his fingers down his throat, that’s how sick he felt. He felt guilty about doing it . . .all that hard work Elizabeth put into the meal was now at the bottom of the porcelain bowl.

************************

Peter tried to get Neal to eat a few more meals with him, mostly at lunch, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good. He was considering bringing up the topic about seeing a doctor but wasn’t sure how to approach it. Neal was already on edge, he didn’t need to be pushed over it.

He was hesitant about putting Neal back in the field. He must have asked him ten times if he wanted to do this particular sting. Neal kept responding that he was fine, that this was his job. Peter knew he should have listened to his instincts because at this moment, the whole operation was falling apart.

“Tell us who you really are!” the mob man sneered as he grabbed Neal's arm.

Neal felt his knees buckle upon the harsh contact. He instinctively pushed the man twice his size but it didn’t do a damn thing. The space between the two was getting smaller and smaller, his back being pushed so hard into the wall he thought he was going to melt into it. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, this man was growling at him, spit flying from his mouth attached to the angry words being yelled at him.

“Freeze!” Jones yelled as he and ten other agents stormed the warehouse.

Neal finally felt the hands release him. He felt another pair of hands touch his shoulder and he couldn’t help but flinch.

“It’s okay,” the familiar voice said. Neal opened his eyes to see Peter kneeling over him. “Let’s get you checked out,” he said as he pulled him upright.

Neal took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Peter could feel the younger man shaking underneath his fingertips. And then Neal felt this incredible surge of agony through his bones. It attached itself to his stomach and spread throughout his spine. He became lightheaded and the colors in front of him swirled like the chalk being erased from the neighborhood blacktop after a thunderstorm. His knees buckled and he could feel himself falling. But he didn’t. Peter caught him before his head hit the dirty concrete floor.

“Hey! Neal!” Peter shouted.

“What?” he croaked weakly.

“Jones get the paramedic over here now!”

“I’m fine, Peter,” Neal said as he tried to ignore the dizziness swimming in his head.

“But you just---”

“He just knocked the wind out of me, let it go.”

********************

The next time he fainted, he couldn’t attribute it to being almost knocked out by someone twice his size. It was a quiet Tuesday morning and the tea in front of him wasn’t settling his ever rumbling stomach. He gave his thigh a hard pinch and that seemed to do the trick. He tiredly pulled his jacket around him.

He was cold, always so goddamn cold now.

“You okay?” Peter asked as he approached Neal’s desk. 

“Yea,” Neal answered with a fake smile.

Peter nodded. It was the only thing he could do. “Okay. We’ve got a new case. Martha James. We think she’s involved in insider trading. I think we should go ask her boss some questions. Her office is right around the corner.”

It was only a block later when Neal saw spots in front him. He thought he heard Peter saying his name as his knees gave out.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he whispered as he tried to push the hands off of him.

“Dammit, Neal, you’re not okay! Fainting in the middle of the street is not okay,” Peter said worriedly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he gasped for air.

Peter saw the sweat on his brow. His breathing was abnormally slow, his entire body was shaking. Peter looked at him, he had a very sick appearance. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Stop it, Peter,” Neal said. “I didn’t get enough sleep.”

“When is the last time you ate?”

“Huh?” he asked, as if he didn’t understand the question.

“Eat? Food? When was the last time?”

“I don’t know, last night,” he mumbled as he looked at the ground. He didn’t like to lie to Peter but he figured this little fib did more good for himself that harm to the man before him.

“You’re lying. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You never eat anymore. Look how thin you are. You can’t afford to lose weight,” Peter said seriously.

Neal didn’t answer. What could he say? That all those words just spoken were utterly false?

Neal let Peter put him in his car, he let him drive down the West Side Highway and he even let him put on news radio. But he couldn't let Peter take him to the hospital, he couldn't let more strangers fondle him, stare at him like he was a science experiment, he couldn't sit in a cold room with nothing but a paper gown that separated his decency from the humility that was certain to attack him. He just couldn't do those things and if Peter's eyes begged him to do them anyways in that heartbreaking way that Neal always gave into, he would just have to look away and stare out the window at the people who seemingly had no faces.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital. You're overreacting.”

“We’re not going to the hospital. We’re going to my house,” Peter answered.

“What? Why?”

“I told Elizabeth I would come home for lunch. You’re coming.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Uh, yea it is. You just collapsed on the street.”

“I just need to rest.”

“No, you need to eat.”

“No. I really don’t.”

Neal said this last part in such a definitive way that it made Peter take his eyes off the road for a short second to look at him. What the hell was going on? What did that mean? “Fine, we’ll go to my doctor, he’s only a few block away from the house,” Peter said as he made a left turn.

“No!”

“Why not? You can’t tell me that you are--”

“I don’t want anyone to touch me, okay?” Neal said sharply as he looked out the window, away from Peter’s gaze.

Peter fell silent. He sure as hell couldn’t push after that statement.

“Okay. Just come back to my house and relax for a bit, you can rest.”

Neal was silent. He didn’t have a choice. He never had a choice in anything anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter stared aimlessly at the screen in front of him. Right now, Neal's tracking information showed he was on Park Avenue with Elizabeth. It was his wife who suggested that the two go out to lunch. She also said it would be better if Peter didn’t go with them. He wasn’t insulted. He knew his wife had a certain warmth to her that led to a certain persuasion of people doing things. He knew that Neal always felt comfortable around Elizabeth and perhaps this would lead to him eating.

He was still replaying yesterday in his head. Neal was so convinced that he shouldn’t eat. Peter couldn’t understand. Perhaps he was having flashbacks or perhaps everything that occurred to the young man was just too much to bear. But still, he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit by and watch his friend lose everything.

He was interrupted in his thoughts when Diana came into his office out of breath. Peter stood up immediately, alarmed. She was usually cool, calm, always collected. “Diana, what’s wrong?”

“Donnie made bail last night.”

“What?”

“I’ve already sent a surveillance team out to keep tabs on him, but no one knows where he is right now.”

“Dammit,” Peter said as he refreshed the Marshal’s webpage. Then he thought his heart stopped. A big screen popped up that read “ERROR”. He refreshed it again. Same message. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Elizabeth’s number.

“Hey, hun.”

“Where are you, El?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Where are you?” he repeated.

“At home . . . ”

“Is Neal with you?”

“No. He said he was tired and was going home to sleep. We never got lunch. Why?”

“I’ll call you back.” Peter’s hands shook as he dialed Neal’s cell. They shook even more when he got his voicemail. He refreshed the screen again, the error message was still there. “I’m going to Neal’s apartment. Try to find out what’s wrong with this goddamn website,” he said as he grabbed his keys.

As he sat in traffic on the West Side Highway, frantically calling Neal every other minutes, terrible scenarios flashed before him. He thought what would happen if he got to Neal’s apartment and everything was still in place but his CI was nowhere in sight, only pieces of his cell phone smashed into pieces, his still wet blood sprayed on the floor, evidence that he struggled but did not win the fight.

He was already running through his head how he would find his CI; he would call every NYPD officer that ever owed him a favor, he would enlist Mozzie if he had too and had already promised to himself that he would turn a blind eye to his more often than not illegal methods.

Peter also thought of the decrepit places that sick psycho would take Neal. Somewhere cold, damp, somewhere that reeked of abandonment. A place where prostitutes frequented, dope fiends got high, homeless psychotics drooled for violence. A place where broken syringes were left to decompose into the rotten floorboards and the sound of husbands beating their wives filled the eerie silence hallways.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head; perhaps Neal was safe, cruising on the Upper East Side, enjoying a cup of coffee. Diana was still in the process of talking with the Marshals, she told him their website was down and it would take 15 more minutes to reboot.

Flashbacks of Neal lying in his bed, tied up, Donnie standing over him with a knife hit Peter hard as a car behind him honked for him to move three inches forward. Whimpers from Neal’s bloody mouth echoed in his ears, the ragged breathing, the detectable agony of a man in pain.

Peter wanted to cry so hard at that sight, but he couldn’t. He had to be strong. He had to hold it together. He remembered how when he touched Neal’s shoulder, he drew away immediately, scared of his touch, scared of the consequences of succumbing to a shadowy figure above him.

He also remembered asking Neal to move, asking him to try and get up so he wouldn’t have to stay within the four walls that was once his home but had now been permanently transformed into a room of nightmares. Neal told him it hurt to move. Peter nodded even though he couldn’t see him for his eyes were closed tight.

So Peter had to stand there, wait for an ambulance and watch as more blood stained his boxers. His phone ringing shook him out of his terrible memories. “Diana please, tell me something good.”

****

Neal was on Park Avenue and 72nd Street looking through records. His fingers glazed the old album covers; Sinatra, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald. He loved the way the cracked cardboard felt underneath his fingers, coated in so much history yet it was here before him in present day, its valuable significance still intact.

He spun around when he heard the police siren wailing. The Ford Taurus didn’t even bother to self parallel park, it just came to a rough halt, its front two tires stopping on the sidewalk while the rest of its metal body spilled diagonally into the street.

“Thank god,” Peter said as he walked towards him.

“I’m within my radius . . .” 

Peter sighed and shook his head, “No, it’s not that . . . I’m just glad I found you.”

Neal, very much confused, lifted his left pant leg slightly. “You can always find me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Neal waited for him to finish that sentence but he could see Peter struggling to find the words, in turn this formed a knot in his ever hungry stomach.

“Okay . . .”

“Let’s go back to the office. Or better yet, let’s go eat.”

“I already ate.”

“What did you eat?”

“Were not in the interrogation room,” Neal retorted.

“I’m just curious,” Peter said.

“Well I’m just curious why you came looking for me in a manner that resembled a scene from 21 Jump Street.”

They were in the car, heading back to Federal Plaza when he told him Donnie made bail. 

“Breathe. Neal.”

He did as instructed, and folded his shaking hands in between his lap and looked at the rain that patted against the window.

****

One week has passed since Donnie was released.

One week had also passed since Neal stopped sleeping. He got an hour here, an hour there, a nap for 45 minutes, but it was never peaceful and he was exhausted. He also knew he had to up his game. He had to really buckle down and lose the rest of the disgusting fat on his body in case Donnie found him--he wouldn’t want him then.

He started running. Not around the block or Central Park, no that was too open, that was too much of an invitation for someone to find him. June had exercise equipment in one of her 23 rooms and Neal took advantage of it. He ran, he ran and ran on that stupid treadmill until his legs shook or he saw stars in front of his eyes.

*********

Peter kept pushing food in front of him, sometimes he begged him to eat. “Please, please, Neal,”  Peter would say sometimes. He could see him withering away and it was absolutely devastating to watch. He told him last week that they had a surveillance team on Donnie at all times, that if he ever wanted to know where he was all he had to do was ask and he would be shown just where the agents were stationed. Peter also told Neal that if Donnie even got within 1000 feet of him that he would be put back in prison. Neal never asked Peter though.

It was a particularly rainy Wednesday afternoon when the coughing started. Neal coughed and coughed until finally he asked if he could go home. He was sweating, his eyes were red, he was completely worn out. Peter told him to sleep and not to come back until he felt 100 percent. He didn’t expect him any time soon.

When he didn’t come in that following Monday and Peter called to see how he was, he could barely answer. His words came out through harsh wheezes and Peter cringed just thinking of him inhaling. Turns out he had pneumonia. The doctor said he had so much fluid in his lungs he himself wondered how Neal was still able to breathe without collapsing. It was particularly hard to watch them drain out that fluid.

“I’ve already numbed your back. You’re going to feel a pinch though when the needle goes in, okay?” the doctor said.

Neal didn’t answer. He didn’t care enough to. He involuntarily let out a groan as he felt the nip in his back and the needle going in deeper and deeper. He didn’t even realize he was clutching the sheets.

“It’s almost over…” the doctor assured him.

It’s the same thing Donnie said before he used his body like it was an amusement park and spat in his face.

“Okay, Mr. Caffrey, I’m going to do the other lung, again you’ll feel another pinch.”

Neal almost lost it when the metal pierced his skin. “No stop,” he wheezed.

“Just stay calm, Mr. Caffrey, the needle is already in,” the doctor said as he firmly placed his hand on Neal’s side.

_“It’s already in, stop crying!” Donnie yelled._

“Stop,” Neal wheezed again. The tears came out fast and hot, blinding him from seeing anything before him.

“Neal? It's alright,” Peter said. 

Neal tried to focus. Slowly, through the water in his eyes, he saw Peter. He was calm, and nothing bad could happen if Peter was calm right? “That’s good. Just focus on me, okay?” 

“Okay, Neal, the needle is out. Try to get some rest.”

A nurse stepped in and placed a pillow against Neal's back before checking his IV. Peter smiled at her. He then refocused to Neal who at that moment was closing his eyes. His breathing seemed a little better. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wont cry next time."

***********

The doctor came in periodically throughout the day. And Neal’s eyes wandered nervously every time. Peter saw him bite his lip whenever he touched him. and that in it of itself made Peter feel guilty for some reason. Like Neal didn't feel safe.

It was close to three when Talia, the nurse who had been caring for Neal during his stay, came in. She and Peter exchanged their small smiles as she checked Neal's IV. She then put on a pair of blue latex gloves and reached into her scrub pocket.

“What is that?” Peter asked as he the white tube.

“It’s cream, similar to Vic’s vapor rub, it should loosen up the gunk in his lungs. Actually, can you help me roll him on his side?” she asked.

“Sure.” He gently rolled a sleeping Neal onto his side and grimaced at how thin he felt in between his arms.

Neal’s eyes popped open when he felt hands on him. Why was on he on his side? He almost screamed but he smelled Peter’s cologne, and then he realized he was still in the hospital. 

“If he weren’t so thin it probably wouldn’t hurt so much,” Talia said as she rubbed the thick cream into his back.

“Dammit, Neal,” Peter said under his breath.

 _If he were thin, he probably wouldn’t have gotten hurt._  Aha! There it was, all the things Neal was thinking and finally he heard the proof with his own two ears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as the tears fell.

“Hey, were just putting some stuff on your back to help you breathe, okay?” Peter said softly.

“I’m sorry.”

**********

An hour later, Peter was helping Neal to the bathroom. “I got it from here,” he said as he grabbed the door for support.

Peter stood outside, giving him the privacy he deserved, but after a few minutes he heard nothing but water running. He knocked gently. “Neal? You okay in there?” There was no answer. “I’m going to come in okay?” 

He pushed the door open to see Neal leaning over the sink, his head sulking down. Steam rose from the water. He could see Neal’s hands underneath the scalding liquid. Peter quickly turned the faucet off and grabbed a towel nearby. His hands were bright red.

“Send me back to jail,” Neal said.

“What?”

“I can’t do this. I’m constantly looking over my shoulders. I don’t feel safe. Put me in solitary confinement, please, just put me back in jail.”

“Neal I'm not going to do that. I won't let you be punished, you did nothing wrong.”

“I want to go back . . . I . . . I want to go back to jail!” 

“Look I know you're in pain right now, but–-"

“Fine, when I get out of here I'll just steal something like the criminal that I am. Then you have to put me back. It's no problem.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He just took Neal's hands into the towel and patted them gently.

“It’s okay,” Peter whispered.

Neal didn’t care the tears were rolling down his face now. “But it’s not.”

****

“C’mon, hunny, just a few bites,” Elizabeth said as she pushed the tray of hospital food closer to Neal. He was being discharged tomorrow and El couldn't wait to feed him some homemade soup and overpriced sweets left over from one of her events.

“I . . . I . . . can’t,” he said softly.

“Why not, sweetie?”

He looked into her soft sweet blue eyes. She wouldn’t hurt him, right? 

“Lay back down sweetie,” she said with a smile. She stroked his hand and a few minutes later, his eyes began to flutter. “Is there a reason you can’t eat?”

“I . . . I need to disappear.” 


	4. Chapter 4

"You can't go back to June's."

“Why not?” Neal asked.

“Because of what you said in the hospital.”

“I was mad.”

“I know, that’s fine . . . but just for a couple of days, okay?”

Neal laid on the Burke’s mattress in their spare bedroom. It was 4:30 in the morning and he knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep. He didn’t even try. He was covered in sweat; a bitter flashback of hands groping him attacked him just a half hour earlier.

It was six hours later when Peter knocked on the door.

“How are you?” he asked as he placed the mug of coffee in Neal’s hand. No answer was given nor required. He could see he was exhausted. His eyes were red, his face was strained--pain scrunched into its features. “Are you still having trouble breathing? The doctor gave you some of that cream. I can put it on if you want.”

“I’m fine,” Neal said, blowing on the steamy water. 

“There’s no reason to be in pain if you don’t have to be.”

 _But I do have to be in pain, I deserve it._ But Neal decided that Peter would be more apt to leave him alone if he complied. “Okay.” He took a deep breath as he lowered his robe. He expected rough hands, but instead he felt gentle ones making small circular motions and lightly rubbing the menthol cream into his skin.

Peter felt him exhale. That was good, he felt comfortable around him. He winced as he felt Neal’s spine and then saw the accentuation of his ribs as he breathed in and out. “Neal, you need to gain some weight.”

_You need to stop gaining weight._

He was right, always goddamn right. “I know,” he said.

Peter’s ears perked up. “You do?” 

Neal pulled the robe up around his shoulders and closed it tight. “Of course I know. I’ve been trying to do that . . . for a while now.”

“Well, good. That’s great,” he said with a smile.

Neal gave a small smile back. He was happy they were finally on the same page.

****

Peter watched his CI make his way down his stair case. His t-shirt exposed his stick thin arms and the deepness of his collarbone. “Elizabeth made you lunch.”

Neal seemed to ignore him and sat down on the couch.

Peter brought the plate over to him and placed it on the coffee table. “Eat.” 

Neal stared at the food as if it were a foreign object. “Make up your mind.”

“What?”

“First you tell me to stop gaining weight and then you try to force feed me.”

“What? I never told you to stop gaining weight. You’re bone thin.”

“Yes you did. You told me to stop gaining weight. Don’t fucking lie,” Neal spat.

It was in this moment that Peter realized Neal was sick. Like actually really sick. Donnie’s hands not only proscribed physical pain upon Neal, but now it had transformed into a mental one. “Neal . . . I said don’t get upset, you need to start _gaining_ weight.”  

“Whatever. Twist your words around.”

Peter raised his brow. “Eat this. Now.”

So he did. He ate it fast and ten minutes later his stomach couldn’t process it. He barely had enough time to kneel to the tiled floor in the pretty purple bathroom before the contents stared back at him.

The blood was new.

****

Neal's eyes slowly opened. At first, he didn't recognize his surroundings. Pale yellow wallpaper, a cream comforter. A painting of a bowl of fruit on the wall. He sighed, realizing he was in the Burke's spare bedroom. A soft yet vibrating hymn lured his attention to the window. A humming bird was on the sill. He watched it for a few seconds. Its wings flapped so fast it could't be detected they were actually moving. He sat up and peered closer.

It was mocking him. Yes, that's what it was. This little birdie was free and he was a parakeet, all caged up and forced to sing.

 _Knock. Knock._  

“Sweetie, I have some soup for you,” Elizabeth said as she entered the room. 

“Tired,” he whispered. 

She placed the bowl on the nightstand and sat down next to him. She swept the hair from his forehead. Her touch was cool and soothing. He didn’t mind El being this close to him. She was safe.

“Just a few spoonfuls,” she said.

He looked into her eyes, they were big and warm. He didn’t want to disappoint her. “Okay,” he said.

She lifted the spoon and brought it to his mouth. She gave him a small wink as he swallowed. He took a few more spoonfuls before he started to feel sick. This wasn’t soup she was feeding him . . . not the kind he would usually allow himself to eat . . . no, this was that thick creamy kind, the one made from fat. It slid down his throat slowly, coating his insides with lard.

He put his hand up, he didn’t want anymore.

“A few more bites.” 

“I . . . don’t want anymore.”

“Please?”

He couldn’t say no to her. She was so sweet to him, so he ate a few more spoonfuls but . . . what if Elizabeth was really there to hurt him?

Elizabeth continued to feed him despite the tears now running down his face. As much as she wanted to stop his pain, she knew she had to keep going. When the bowl was empty, she grabbed the napkin and wiped away his tears and then his mouth. “You’re going to be okay,” she said.

He laid back down, sick to his stomach. He reached under the covers and touched his stomach. He knew he should have felt his ribs that were dying to cut through the thin layer of skin, he knew he should have felt his hips bones that were sharp and poked his palms, he knew he should have felt all that but he couldn’t. He just felt the fat. 

Elizabeth gently coaxed his hand out from under the covers. 

“I’m so messed up,” he said.

************

He found razor blades in the Burke's upstairs bathroom.

He lowered himself to the ground and pull his boxers up. The first incision on his thigh was like breathing golden air. He let out a moan of pure ecstasy. He made another cut and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He made one more cut before he dropped the razor.

His heart raced with peace.

“Neal? Are you okay in there?” Peter asked. He had been keeping an extra close eye on him ever since yesterday afternoon. He was deeply worried about the younger man's mental safety. Peter thought that maybe he just needed to be around good people who wanted to care for him, people that wanted to help him through this. Maybe what Neal said yesterday was just remnants of the trauma he had endured. But Peter knew if Neal was still showing signs of a deep depression or of an eating disorder, that he would have to take him to a doctor.

“Fine,” Neal said.

“El is making dinner, it will be ready in 15 minutes, okay?”

Neal made another small incision on his thigh.

“I know you are probably not hungry but it would make me feel better if you tried.”

“Uh, yea sure,” Neal said.

Peter thought Neal’s voice sounded shaky. “Are you sure you’re okay in there?”

"I'm great."

****************

Peter should have listened to his instincts. The more the bruises lightened, the more weight seemed to melt off. And he was still sad all the time, sometimes he caught him crying. It never seemed to release any of the apparent pain he was in; in fact it seemed to burden him even more, he was crying and crying but it never lifted any grief off his shoulders.

He spent a lot of time in the bathroom too. Peter thought he was throwing up food, but he never heard the familiar sounds of a purge. He didn't even hear the toilet flush. Peter forced himself to open the door, he had to know what he was doing in there. Yes, privacy was to be violated but it wasn't to get his rocks off; if Neal was doing something to harm himself then it was up to Peter to stop it.

That was after all the game they always played after all.

“Neal, put the blade down,” Peter said as he slowly knelt down to his knees.

Neal, leaning against the bathroom wall, held the razor blade in his right hand and pressed it down against his left forearm, which was fresh with bleeding cuts.  “If I wanted to kill myself, these wouldn’t be horizontal,” he said as he watched the blood flow slowly. “Now leave me alone.”

“I can't do that. Please.” Peter never took his eyes off the blade or his arm for that matter, they were littered with old cuts.

Neal saw him staring at his fat filled flesh. “You should see me thighs . . . ”

Peter shook his head. “Dammit, Neal, please! I can help you, you don’t have to hurt yourself like this.”

“I'm not hurt . . . I feel okay.”

“No you are hurting yourself, you're very sick.”

“No, I'm not. I feel good, if I give you this blade, all you’ll do is hide it from me and force me to eat. Can't you see I'm trying to disappear!?”

“Neal, please. I know you're hurting now, a lot of bad things happened to you that weren’t your fault."

“I told you, I'm fine!” Neal yelled as he made a deeper incision.

Peter couldn’t sit there and watch him mutilate himself any further. As soon as Neal lifted the blade from his skin, Peter swiftly grabbed his wrist. 

“Stop,” Neal said firmly.

Peter ignored him and pressed down on his pressure point, this resulting in Neal dropping the blade. Peter grabbed it and then released Neal's wrist. Peter reached for the tan hand towel and pressed it firmly against the younger man's skin.

Peter felt the tears in his eyes, but he would not let them fall. Not here. "Neal, I . . . I don't know what to do for you anymore."

"You can't do anything. I’m broken.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Elizabeth said as Peter closed the car door.

“You think I want to do this? Have more doctors and nurses prod him? I have to do this.”

“But what if . . . ”

“What if they declare him unfit and sent him back to jail?”

Elizabeth nodded as she peered into the glass over her husband’s shoulder. Neal was picking at the gauze around his wrist. He didn’t dare look at her.

“I’m not going to let that happen.”

“I have a friend, she’s a psychologist who specializes in eating disorders. Maybe we can get Neal see her everyday, and then if nothing changes he goes to the hospital.”

“Elizabeth, I like that idea, I do, but health wise, if he doesn’t gain some weight soon he’s not going to be able to talk to anyone.” Peter felt tears building in his eyes as he finished that sentence.

“But he won’t get better if he’s forced to. He has to want to get better on his own. Maybe if he talks to someone about all this, it will make him realize there are other ways to deal with it. Forcing food down his throat is aggressive. He’ll resent you and you know it.”

Sometimes he hated how his wife always had to be right, but that’s also one of the reasons he loved her. He sighed, turned around and opened the door.

“Neal, I want to propose something to you. We want you to talk to a doctor, a psychologist. If you agree to that and if you agree to eat a light meal and not hurt yourself, then I would feel better about not taking you to the hospital. Can we agree to that, just for now?”

Neal stared at the dashboard and weighed the options presented to him. Talking versus touching? He didn’t need to ponder long. He nodded and accepted Peter’s hand as he helped him out of the sedan.

He didn’t talk as he munched on toast with jelly and cream cheese. He didn’t even say a word when the lemonade with all the sugar on the bottom was presented him. He was just so goddamn thankful that he got to keep his clothes on today.

****

“So, Neal, how are you feeling today?” Doctor Allison Scott asked.

“Fine.” Neal didn’t even try and con her, there was no façade, no smile, no deep eye contact. He focused on the navy rug beneath his feat, wondering how many threads it took to make such nice fabric look so cheap.

“So, why don't you tell me why you're here?”

Neal didn’t respond, she didn't expect him to.

Dr. Scott kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, she kept her eyes soft and her face neutral. She never kept a pad and paper near her fingers, she had dealt with this kind of behavior for many years, she knew how objectified her patients had felt in the past; it was important to keep this casual. “How about a word association exercise? I say a word and you say the first thing that comes to your mind. You can say anything, there are no wrong answers.”

Neal nodded but he didn’t look at her.

“Family,” she said.

“Betrayal,” he answered.

“Dream.”

“Kate.”

“Birds.”

“Freedom.”

“Food.”

“Danger.”

“Okay, good.” Dr. Scott could see Neal was very anxious. She wasn’t surprised, the first session was the hardest. Although there time together was brief thus far, she could tell there was pain in his eyes, a lot of pain. She could also tell he wasn’t always like but it was also plain to her than Neal was fighter.

“Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about Neal?” She saw him searching for words but he remained silent. “That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about anything if you don't want to. Today is more of a getting to know you meeting. Just to see if you feel comfortable with me.”

His eyes met hers this time and she could tell immediately that he was thanking her.

Dr. Scott then told Neal a little bit about where she grew up, where she went to school, what her hobbies were. She didn’t ask him question, she knew not to. This part of the session was to make him understand she herself was a human being, that she was capable of having normal conversations, that she wasn't limited to just psychology talk. She wanted to make him comfortable and show him that he wasn’t just some file to her.

“I think that’s enough for today,” she said with a smile.

He looked at her, slightly confused.

“Like I said, it’s just a getting to know you session. We’ll talk more tomorrow, if you want.”

Neal didn’t respond, he just picked at the skin on his fingers.

“Actually, I have a little exercise for you for tomorrow’s session.”

“Let me guess, I write down what I eat today?”

She responded with another warm smile, “No, actually I was thinking you could write about a recent dream you’ve had. If you can’t remember one, then write about one you’d like to have. I’d also like you to write about a nightmare you’ve had, and if you can’t remember one of those I want you to write about something you’re afraid of, no matter what it is. Do you want to try that?”

Neal's hands were shaking slightly. “Okay.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

  
****

  
He decided to start with the nightmare. He held the pen to his hand, started to form the first letter and then stopped. He scribbled out the unfinished R and started again. After three more attempts he threw the pen at the wall. He didn’t dare try and use a laptop, he knew he would smash it against the wall too.

He sighed and looked at the toast next to his hand. It was cold now. Peter was at the other end of the table reading the newspaper, Neal could see out of the corner of his eyes that he was checking every couple of minutes to see if he ate any of it.

Neal took a deep breathe and turned to a clean page. He wrote the word Dream on the top line. He smiled. That wasn’t so hard.

He wrote about a dream he had last week. He remembered it very clearly. He was in the surveillance van with Peter, Diana and Jones. They were keeping tabs on a Danish woman who was running a ponzi scheme. Peter was eating deviled ham and Diana was giving him shit for it. By the end of the day they caught the woman red handed. On his way home he spotted Mozzie selling hot dogs for 25 dollars a pop, the bun was an extra 10. It was a normal typical day; a day where he was whole, a day where didn’t know how bad it could be.

Suddenly Neal was crying and he couldn’t stop. Peter was kneeling next to him, shoving napkins into his hands, asking him what was wrong.

“I just want it to go back to the way it was,” he sobbed.

Peter nodded. He wished desperately for the same thing.

****

  
Neal clutched the notebook in his hands. The cover was bent, ripped and old looking. He only had it in his possession for 23 hours though.

“So, how’d you do?” Dr. Scott asked as she took a sip of tea.

“Ummm . . .  okay.”

She nodded. “Good, that’s great to hear.”

Neal looked anywhere but her face. He bit his nails mindlessly.

“So today I was thinking we could talk about Peter and Elizabeth,” she said.

“Why?”

“They seem to care about you a lot. I just thought it was be a nice conversation to have. How you feel about them and whatnot.”

“Don’t . . . don’t you want to talk about the assignment you gave me?” he asked. He was confused. Why give him the homework if she didn’t plan on grading it?

She smiled and shook her head. “That’s just for you. We can talk about it though if you want. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well if you want to talk about it we can, whenever you want to.”

He nodded. A choice. She was giving him a choice. “I couldn’t write down a nightmare . . . or anything I was afraid of.”

“Is that because you don’t have any nightmares or anything to be afraid of?”

“No.”

“Then why did you find it difficult?”

“If . . . if I wrote it down, it wouldn’t just be in my head . . . it would make it more . . . more…”

“More what, Neal?”

“Real.”


	6. Chapter 6

Peter was up  early the following Friday morning. He did his usual routine: shower, shave, brush his teeth, and lastly check the garbage. The last one was the newest part of his routine. That’s right. Every morning he checked the garbage to make sure there were never any razor blades coated with red hidden beneath tissues. He didn’t like to do this. He felt like he was invading someone’s privacy, but that was thing, he most certainly was.

He sighed when he found them. At first he thought it was a mistake. He wanted to ignore them, he couldn’t though. He took the garbage can into his bedroom and placed it on the ground. If there was one thing he learned all these years on the job was this: don’t accuse anyone of anything unless you have proof of it.

“You found more?” Elizabeth asked as she put in her other earring.

“Yes.”

She shook her head and sighed. “Well he’s eating. That’s something.”

“Barely. I couldn’t survive on what he consumes. And it’s no good if he replaces one bad habit with another. I really thought this psychologist was helping him.”

“She is. Before we had to basically force him to eat, now he does it on his own. Even if it’s not the amount you want it to be, you have to admit this is progress.”

“I guess so. I just want him to get better, El.”

“I know you do hun, so do I. It’s not going to happen overnight though. Everything that’s happened to him . . . I know I wouldn’t be able to get through it. I think he’s doing great considering.”

Peter sat down on the bed, clearly frustrated.

“Are you going to say something?” she asked as she pointed to the can.

Peter ran his hand over his face, looked at her and nodded."I have to."

*******

Neal was sitting in the Burke’s kitchen. He was watching 'The Today Show' while eating an orange. Per Dr. Scott’s suggestion, he discovered he was able to eat just a little more if he was distracted by something. He focused on the pixels instead of what he was putting in his mouth.

When the segment about the best flip flops to wear during the summer was over, so was he with his fruit. The hosts said they would be back after the commercial break and Neal sighed as he looked at the bowl of granola and yogurt Elizabeth left for him.

He brought the spoon to his lips and chewed, trying desperately not to think of what the carbohydrates were doing to his body; he didn’t even realize his other hand was on the nape of his neck, his fingers intertwined in a locket of hair.

Peter outwardly huffed as he saw what the young man up to. “You’re doing it again,” he stated in a flat tone.

Neal abruptly pulled his hand down. He curled his hand into a fist, hoping Peter wouldn’t see the few strands inside it.

Peter set the small garbage can on the empty chair.

“What are you . . . are you looking through the trash now?”

“You said you wouldn’t do it anymore,” Peter said.

“Do what?” Neal asked awkwardly.

Peter never took his stern look off him. “You know what,” he said as he pointed to Neal’s head.

He embarrassingly took his other hand and placed it over his head, making sure to cover the new bald spot that now sported the area do to his own volition.

Peter removed the trash can and put it on the floor. He didn’t want to stare at clumps of Neal’s hair in there anymore. He sat down next to his C.I. and gently brought his hand back down away from his head.

“I . . . I don’t even realize when I’m doing it. I’m sorry,” Neal said quietly.

“Don’t be sorry. I get why you do it. I just don’t want you to replace one bad habit with another. I’m just looking out for you, Neal.”

He nodded but he knew Peter didn’t understand. At first he really didn’t realize when he was pulling out his hair, it must have been a nervous tick. But when he understood what he was doing, he strangely didn’t mind. It made him feel safer.

“Maybe you could talk about it with Dr. Scott?”

He nodded. He couldn’t blame Peter for trying to help. He was his friend. His only friend. “Yea . . .  I’ll try . . .  not to do it anymore. Thanks.”

Peter nodded and smiled. “Okay. How’s that granola?”

“Good,” Neal forced out along with a smile. He took another bite but he hated every ingredient that attacked his taste buds. Every mouthful he took under Peter’s now watchful eye made him think the room was getting smaller and smaller. He wanted to scream, but he was afraid if he did no one would hear him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have to warn, the end of the chapter is dark.

“You sure about this?” Peter asked.

“No . . . but Dr. Scott suggested I go back,” Neal answered as he put his hand on door handle. Peter gently placed his hand on his shoulder. “You can still stay at our house, Elizabeth and I don’t mind. If you’re not ready to go back to June’s. I mean if you’re not comfortable.”

“You mean if _you’re_ not comfortable…”

Peter sighed. “That’s not it. I just . . . if you don’t want to be alone--”

“I’m fine,” Neal said firmly.

Peter nodded but he couldn’t help but think back to when Neal said the exact same thing weeks ago and it was obvious he was hurting deeply on the inside. “Okay. Maybe tomorrow after your appointment with Dr. Scott you can come over and we can have dinner--”

“Peter, stop.” Neal sighed as ran his fingers through his hair, the bald spot that once bared the back of his head was gone. “I appreciate everything you and Elizabeth have done for me . . . really, words aren’t suffice, but I need to start doing things on my own. Okay?”

Peter nodded again. “I didn’t mean to do that. I just--”

Neal gave a small smile, “I know. Thanks.” 

Manuela, the house maid, let him in and gave him a big hug. She told him June was out of town for the week but had prepared a room for him at the other end of the house in case he decided to come back. Neal thanked her and made his way up the stairs. When he got to the top of the stair case, he instinctively turned left—where his former room was. He stood in front of the door and stared at it.

_“Those lips are quite pretty Caffrey, I bet their going to feel great against mine.”_

Neal took a deep breath and inched away. He hated this. He hated he couldn’t go back in there. There were good memories in there. Sara. Mozzie and him scheming various cons. All the paintings and sculptures he created. Those were great memories, happy ones, but he didn’t know if they could overpower the terrible ones.

When he got to his new room, he set his bag on the floor and flopped down on the bed. His fingers subconsciously found their way to his stomach. He felt the pudgy spots that now covered his hip bones and ribs. No, he said to himself.

He stood up and started to unpack his duffel bag. When he was done putting his belongings away he saw it was close to seven o’clock. He remembered what Dr. Scott said about meals and time. She suggested he give himself a food schedule so that he was sure to eat regularly, even if his mind was telling him not to.

He made his way to the kitchen and Ben, the house chef asked if he wanted something prepared for him. “No please, I can do it,” Neal said politely. 

The voice in his head started fighting with him though; did he not want Ben to prepare him dinner because he knew he wouldn’t be able to detect just what calorific ingredients were being put into it? No, he told himself, he just wanted to do it on his own, that’s all.

He put the small television on the counter on and watched Jeopardy. He said all the answers in his head as he ate a normal portion of cereal and milk. He couldn’t argue with himself that this was an unhealthy meal. It was just corn flakes, after all . . . and two percent milk. No one could fault him for being too healthy either. This was okay, he said to himself.

********

“So, Neal, how was your first night back at June’s?” Dr. Scott asked.

“It was . . . fine. It was fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“It was just strange. I haven’t been there in a while.”

“What was strange about it?”

“I really like the house. I mean, I really like the people in it. It was just . . . a little overwhelming.”

“Change can be overwhelming, even small changes,” Dr. Scott said.

Neal gave a small nod. “I was by. . . I was in front of the room--my old room and I got really, not upset but, I don’t know what the word is to describe it. I felt like a monster was in there or something.”

Dr. Scott nodded. “That a perfectly acceptable feeling. You know Neal, in a way there is a monster in that room. It’s up to you though how you want to act on it.”

“I was thinking of moving of maybe find a different place to live, but I don’t want to run. I’m tired of running.”

“Well, Neal, as you have seen so far you aren’t running. You’ve dealt with some tough issues and doing it step by step. You’ve made some amazing progress.”

He gave a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You should be very proud of yourself. I’m certainly proud of you. I’m sure Peter and Elizabeth are as well.”

“Yea . . . ”

“You don’t think they are?”

“No, I do. Peter just kind of walks on eggs shells around me. Like he’s just waiting for me to break or something.”

“I think Peter cares about you deeply. He only wants what is best for you. I wouldn’t take his caring as a negative.”

He sighed, “I just don’t want to disappoint him.”

********

Peter peaked up from his file and caught a glimpse of Neal sitting at his desk. It was his second week back and so far things were going well. They had already made a major breakthrough on a case involving a mortgage fraud. Although the two weren’t joking around like they used to, Neal seemed happier than Peter had seen him in a while.

Neal had also been living on his own again at June for three week now. Peter could see Neal was maintaining the ten pounds he was able to put on; he was also glad Neal kept an alarm on his watch and every day at exactly 12:30, he’d excused himself for lunch. There was even a day where they went to grab pizza. Although Neal didn’t eat 2 pieces Peter had, he ate an entire slice without Peter nudging him in the slightest. He even ordered a regular coke.

Peter reminded himself to thank Elizabeth later; she was right about Dr. Scott. She was always right.

********

Neal couldn’t sleep that night. He stared aimlessly at the darkness in front of him, wondering incessantly why he ate that second bowl of cereal at dinner time.

His hand once again found his way to his stomach, he sighed when he felt more softness where his ribs once cut through. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something more pleasant.

Finally, he felt sleep coming for him but he was jolted awake when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the clock on the bed stand. It was close to two in the morning. He brought the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

Nothing. There was no response.

He hung up, annoyed. Of all time to get a wrong number. He wondered if he would get any sleep when again the phone rang. “Hello?”

There was no response, but this time Neal heard breathing. Heavy breathing. “Hello?” he said again.

He sat up now, listening to the breathing.

 _Click_.

He glanced around the room. Shivers ran down his spine. Just turn the phone off, he said to himself. Turn the phone off and lie back down, go to sleep, end of story.

He opened his phone and before he could turn it off, the phone rang again. The number was blocked just like before. “Who is this?” he asked in a pissed off tone. The breathing was louder this time.

“Hello, Neal. I’ve missed you terribly.”

His hands started shaking uncontrollably. It was Donnie.

“Wh-what do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

Neal didn’t even feel the tears running down his face, but he knew they were there. “Leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that Neal. When I was in jail, I realized something; you and I belong together.”

“I-I don’t want anything to do with you. Now leave me alone!” 

"You listen to me you stupid bitch, I'm coming for you. It's not a question of if, it's a question of when. So when I get my hands on you, I'm going to do things to you that will make our last encounter seem like a joke. I was gentle before!"

Neal hung up and threw the phone at the wall. He swung his feet over the bed and put his head down to his knees. He was hyperventilating. He couldn’t breathe. He ran to the bathroom and threw up what was left of that second bowl of cereal still lingering in his stomach.


	8. Chapter 8

“I called you twice,” Peter said.

“My phone broke,” Neal responded.

Peter studied Neal’s face quickly. His eyes were red; he didn’t sleep at all. He also seemed nervous, not the kind where he was looking over his shoulder or scream at the drop of a pen near his feet, but the kind that made his fingers twitch and breathing uneven if he thought about what was bothering him too long. It was the kind of nervousness that made Peter nervous and he didn’t like that one bit. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

Neal met his eyes and Peter saw he was afraid to answer. “Neal, did something happen?”

He could have said yes, could have told Peter about the phone call that may have already turned his world upside down again, but he didn’t. He couldn’t put Peter through that again, he couldn’t have Peter walk like a scared shadow around him. He didn’t want to disappoint him. Things were finally getting back to ‘normal’ and Neal wanted things to be ‘normal’ again. He told himself that phone call didn’t happen. It was part of his imagination. It was a dream. A nightmare.

“No. Just tired. I didn’t sleep well.”

“Well we don’t have a lot to do today, you can leave early if you want and rest.”

 _No. He’s waiting for me to break, fall apart. Cowboy up, isn’t that what he used to say?_   “I’m fine, Peter. I’ll get grab an espresso later.”

He did indeed grab an espresso twenty minutes later. The air outside was cool and breezy and he should have enjoyed it, instead he looked over his shoulder, just waiting to be grabbed.

When he returned to his desk he saw a pile of fresh folders littering it. He could have been peeved at the thought of going through mountains of papers but he was relieved. He desperately needed the distraction. Plus, he would be surrounded by FBI agents; no one could get to him here, right?

He managed to eat half a muffin by the time he finished the third case report. When he picked up the next folder, he saw a envelope with his name on it underneath it. His stomach cramped immediately, he never got mail here. The anxiety of what was inside it was going to make him pass out so he quickly grabbed it and turned his chair so his back was facing the bullpen.

_Neal,_

_Perhaps my approach in the past was too aggressive, I understand that now. However I do believe you and I make a fine pair. We belong together, even if you don’t see that now, you will eventually. Please meet me tomorrow night at the Hotel on 95th street and Broadway at 10 o’clock. If you fail to meet me for our reunion I will have no other option but to show my affection to another._

_Love,_

_Donnie_

Neal turned over the letter and saw a picture of Elizabeth glued on the back. There was also a picture of June. And Peter. And Mozzie.

He couldn’t stop the tears from falling even if he wanted to. He waited a minute and turned his head slightly towards Peter sitting at his desk, he was on the phone, smiling, laughing.

He folded the letter and stuffed it back inside the envelope that now housed his hell in worded form. He placed it in his jacket pocket and made a beeline for the bathroom. He was thankful no one was in there. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He splashed cold water on his face but it felt like he was on fire.

He looked at himself in the mirror for only two seconds before he headed straight for a stall and emptied the previously stored contents.

When he was through, he leaned in exhaustion against the stall door, knees to his chest. His mind raced through all the relaxation tips Dr. Scott ever suggested to him but his heart was beating so fast he couldn't bring himself to do any of them.

His eyes fixated on the little silver metal paper clip next to the toilet. He didn't bother asking himself why such an office supply would be in stall of a bathroom, instead he saw it as divine intervention. It was placed here just for the purpose he was going to use it for.

He grabbed it and unfolded it, getting it as straight as it would go. He hurriedly unfastened his cuff and rolled up the arm of his sleeve. He ran the metal against his skin, particularly on an old faint scar, as hard as he could. His heart rate unquestionably decreased as blood appeared. It wasn't a lot, not by any means--this was probably the weakest cut he had ever made on himself, but the sting of open flesh eating the oxygen around him calmed him enough. This would have do for now.

It only took a minute for the blood to stop flowing and he felt disappointment when it did, but he felt better than before. He almost, almost, forgot why he was in here in the first place. He flushed the toilet and hoisted himself off the floor. He fastened his cuff link and exited the stall.

He didn't dare look at the mirror as he washed his hands. He couldn't bear the sight of himself. He probably looked pathetic.

"Hey, you okay?"

Neal tried to put on his best smile without seeming to overcompensating. "Coffee just seems to run through me Peter."

Peter once again studied him. He appeared calm, neutral, not out of sorts, but still, there was something going on. It was just a feeling he had, but with Neal,it was always just that. He learned he never got the whole picture until after it was taken. "You sure you're okay?"

Neal grabbed a napkin and dried his hands. He threw it in the garbage, looked at Peter, and smiled. "Of course."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst ensues. cannot help it. enjoy.

Neal ignored the first phone call, then the second, then the third, then the fourth. He knew who was calling him and he didn’t want to deal with it, plain and simple.

He also didn’t want to deal with eating. He tried at first, he really did, but it always came back up involuntarily, so he stopped trying.

It was now an hour before Donnie told him to be at the hotel. He sat at the table and stared at the phone. _I should just call Peter._ He nodded to the voice in his head and grabbed the device. He was about to press send when a text message popped up, it was a picture of Elizabeth exiting the FBI building, wearing the same outfit Neal saw her in earlier when she came by to have lunch with her husband. Of course she invited him but he declined, saying how he had to get the evidence on his desk to the storage unit. He stumbled out of there before Peter could arrange for the probie to do it.

“Dammit!” Neal cried. He could barely breathe as he tried to think of what he was going to do to get out of this without any of the people he loved getting hurt.

Another text message appeared and this time it was of June, walking her dog. Neal’s mind went blank; he couldn’t get out of this.

When the phone rang a fifth time, he picked it up. “Don’t be late, Neal. I’ll see you in 28 minutes.”

_Click._

****

He opened the door before Neal even knocked. The air hitched inside his chest and he couldn’t move. Donnie smiled and gently grabbed his arm, guiding him into the seedy hotel room.

Neal stared at the floor, unable to look at his nightmare.

“I’m really glad you came, Neal.”

His heart was now beating faster than he thought possible. All the anguish, all the hurt, all the terrible things he did to himself was because of the man beside him; he never wanted to blend into a wall more than he did right there. “I . . . I-I want you to leave me and my friends alone, okay?” He still didn’t look at him, he couldn’t. He braced himself for a punch, or a slap, both did not happen.

Donnie calmly strolled to the bed and sat down, making it creak in the worst possible way. “I can leave your friends alone.”

Neal swallowed nervously, still not looking up.

“On one condition.”

Neal shut his eyes, he wanted to wake up now. He shook his head profusely. “I can’t do that, please.”

“The decision is purely yours. You’re a big boy, you can make your own decisions.” Donnie rubbed the open spot on the bed next to him.

 _Run Neal, just run out of there . . . but Elizabeth, and Peter, and June._  He truly thought he was going to faint. His feet felt like they were in cement blocks but he put one in front of the other. He sat down on the bed, after the longest minute of his life he finally looked up and faced his demon. “Please . . . don’t be rough.”

****

Neal doesn’t remember leaving the hotel room; he remembered everything else though. The hot air on his neck, the sweat falling onto his back, the hands roaming. Now he was standing in a pizzeria, staring mindlessly at the hot gooey yellow cheese that lay atop garlic and onion tomato sauce and soft warm bread made of nothing but carbohydrates.

He ordered three slices and ate them as fast as he could, ignoring the stares during the process. It was as if he couldn't get it in him fast enough, but he didn't care. Each bite swallowed filled his empty stomach and the hurt he gained from stuffing so much inside made him forget what he just went though.

He walked the two block home and thought he was going to puke right there on the street, but he didn't; he loved this feeling too much to give it up so quickly. He could think of nothing _but_ this feeling.

When he was kneeling over the toilet, his throat was burning and now all he could think of was how bad stomach acid tasted. He finally leaned against the wall in exhaustion but he felt euphoric too. He forced himself to to crawl, like a goddamn weakling, to the shower, turned it on and stripped while the water heated up. He stared at his body and a strange smile emerged as he ran his fingers over the tiny part of his rib that was daring to peak out from underneath his skin.

He ignored the bruises that were already forming on his hips, the bones that were soon to come out and play would hide them. As he sat on the shower floor, warm water hit his body and he became fixated as the red mixed in with the liquid and go bye-bye down the drain. _The sewer can take the evidence, destroy it, making sure it never sees the light of day._

As he lay in bed and stared at the darkness, he thought about crying. _Maybe I’ll feel better._ He turned on his side and looked out the window. That damn bird that always perched itself on his sill was there, chirping away. He couldn’t stop the tears after that. He was a bird too, although he was a caged bird with broken wings and he was deathly sure he would never fly free.


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m worried.”

“About?”

“You.”

“I’m . . . fine.”

There! There it was--that three second hesitation between the two words. Peter knew Neal wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine for about a month now.

“You know, Neal, if you actually looked at me when you said it, I might have believed you.”

“I just feel stressed.” 

“Why don’t you try meditating? Or painting? When’s the last time you painted something?”

Neal shrugged. He could have said three days ago but he didn’t want to explain how all he managed to create was a plethora of red and black spots. He found it disgusting and threw out all his paints and brushes.

Peter sighed at the lack of response. “Let's get something to eat. We’ll finish this case later.”

“Umm--”

“It wasn’t a question,” he said firmly. Neal could layer as many t-shirts as he wanted underneath his jacket, but it didn’t take away from the sunken cheekbones or the twig like appearance his legs were adopting. This was not happening again!

“How are things going with Dr. Scott?” Peter asked as he finished his sandwich and glanced at Neal's uneaten one.

“Good.”

“So you’re still seeing her?”

“Every Friday at six,” Neal answered as he picked at the bread.

“You’ve lost weight.” He was never one to beat around the bush.

Neal forced a bite. “No.”

“I think you should come back to my house and stay with us.”

Neal wanted to say yes, but he couldn’t. He could risk Donnie getting closer to Peter and Elizabeth, no way. “I’m fine, really, Peter.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong. These last few weeks, you’ve been . . . something is wrong. I thought things were getting better, Neal.”

When he said this, it somehow burned a bigger a hole in Neal’s heart. After everything this man had done for him, it was just being erased, like he helped Neal for nothing. He couldn’t let Peter think that.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been stressed and I just think too much. I like to run to clear my mind but Dr. Scott doesn’t want me exercising. I don’t mean to burden you.”

“It’s not a burden, Neal. I just want you to be healthy. I don’t want you to get sick again.”

 _Look, just look at how much he cares. I have to be strong; I have to put a smile on my face. I can’t let him know what’s going on._ “I know.” He forced another bite of his disgusting sandwich.

****

Neal stumbled down the dark street. He didn’t try to conceal his limp or the way every muscle and bone in his body was screaming at him to stop moving. He didn’t dare take a taxi, he was sure the cab driver would have taken him straight to the hospital. 

When he finally opened the door to his room, his heart lodged in his throat. Peter was staring out the window, looking down at the beautiful landscape that housed his hell. _Not tonight, any other night but tonight._

“You lied to me, Neal.”

He wiped the sweat off his brow and straightened his shirt as best he could before Peter turned around. “W-what?”

“You said you were still seeing Dr. Scott. I called her earlier. She said you hadn’t been there for a session in over a month. I checked your anklet. What were you doing?”

“I…I…” 

Peter turned to him. He looked him up and down and shook his head. “You’re sweating. You were running. Running around the block weren’t you?”

“No, I swear--”

“Dammit, Neal! Don’t lie to me! Can’t you see you’re doing it again! Look at you! You’ve lost all the weight you managed to put on.”

“No, please--”

Peter ignored him, grabbed his wrist and started dragging him towards the bathroom. Neal tried to turn around but Peter placed his hand around his arm. “Look, look in the mirror! Don’t you see it? Don’t you see how sick you are?”

He looked but all he saw was a disgusting slob who was nothing more than a whore, who had just been abused, violated, fucked and spit on like he was garbage. He punched the mirror, punched it so hard it shattered everywhere. “I don’t see anything.”

Peter shook his head, visibly upset. “I knew it, I knew it.” He once again grabbed Neal by the wrist.

“Stop,” he pleaded.

“I’m taking you to the hospital. I should have listened to myself the first time.”

“Stop!”

“I don’t like doing this, Neal! I care about you, even if you don’t see it!”

“Let go of me. Don’t be like him, Peter!”

Startled by this, he immediately let go. Neal crumbled to the floor, sobbing, it seemed as though he couldn’t breathe he was crying so hard. Peter mentally smacked himself. _Don’t be like him._ How could he be so stupid?!

He knelt down to the younger man but didn’t touch him. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you, Neal. Calm down. Breathe.”

Peter’s voice soothed him and air found their way inside his lungs. “I’m going to help you to the couch, okay?”

Neal wiped his face and nodded.

Peter placed him on the cushion and could have sworn he heard Neal hiss. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a glass and was about to fill it with water when the red caught his eye. Blood. There was blood on the floor where Neal was sitting only seconds ago.

“Ne-Neal, is your hand bleeding? Fr-from the mirror?” Peter placed the glass on the coffee table and saw his hand was fine, not a scratch on it. He looked at the younger man’s face, there was no blood there either.

“Oh my god,” he whispered under his breath. It was making sense now. He didn’t want it to make sense though. Was it possible? He crouched down slowly, afraid to ask, afraid to know. “Neal, look at me please. Did. . . did someone hurt you?”

He didn’t respond. He kept his eyes on his shoes and just hoped that Peter wouldn’t ask him again.

“Did someone touch you, Neal?” Peter’s voice was shaking now. He still didn’t look up, he was biting his lip, like if he didn’t all hell would break loose. Peter saw the faint blue and purple marks on his wrist, his neck now seemed red under the lighting. “Please, Neal, answer me.”

He looked up, his eyes sad and tired. “What do you want me to say?”

“God-dammit!” So much anger seeded through him he thought he was going to break everything around him. It happened again, he couldn’t protect Neal like he said he would. He felt tears burning holes in his eyes.

“Please. Don’t be mad. It’s okay. It’s okay--”

“Neal, this is not okay! Is this the only time? Please tell me, don’t lie to me, please.”

“He said he was going to hurt you. Elizabeth. June.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have done something--”

“I was . . . I’m already so messed up. It didn’t matter if he hurt me again. I could never live with myself if he hurt you or Elizabeth, or Mozzie or June. I just couldn’t. I had to do it! You don't understand!”

Another piece of Peter’s heart broke. Neal didn’t deserve this! And he didn't deserve to think he did. He couldn’t understand how Neal thought it was okay for this to happen. And under his watch! He should have seen something was wrong immediately. “I have to get you to a hospital.”

Neal wiped the tears that never seemed to stop falling. He shook his head, “I’m fine.” He knew Peter saw him winced as he stood up and he hated how he was so careless.

“Clearly you’re not. Where are you going?”

“Shower.”

“What? Neal, there’s evidence . . . I need to get you to a hospital,” Peter said as he reached for his arm.

He shook his arm out of his grip. “No, I’m going to take a shower.”

Peter didn’t miss the blood that now stained the couch. “Neal, seriously you need a doctor.”

Neal breathed heavily as he looked at the couch. “I-I . . . no!”

“Please, you’re obviously hurt. You don’t know what you’re saying. I’ll get him, Neal, I’ll get him and I’ll lock him up forever! But you need to get to a doctor.” 

Neal pushed Peter. “Stop! I need to shower! I need to get them off me!”

Peter’s face went stark white. He couldn’t connect the words just spoken to what they actually meant. “Th-th-them? How . . . how many?”

He didn’t answer. He grabbed the nearby chair and leaned against it, ready to collapse from the indescribable pain he was in at the moment.

“Neal, I can catch . . . them. Give me a description, please. What did they look like?”

He stared at the floor, at the blood, at _his_ blood. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to look at them.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is graphic and dark.

Dr. Scott entered the room quietly, unsure whether Neal was asleep or not. He studied her face quickly and then turned back to the television.

“Hi,” Neal whispered. As she took a seat in the chair next to the bed, she noticed the faint bruises around his neck and wrists. He had lost weight, it was undeniable.

“Hi, Neal,” she answered with a warm smile.

“You don’t have to say anything. This is no one’s fault but my own.”

Dr. Scott shook her head. “Oh, Neal, that’s not true.”

He let out a small chuckle. “I don’t know why Peter called you.”

She knew exactly why Peter called her. She was shocked and angry when she found out what happened. Peter didn’t ask her to come to the hospital, but she knew she had to. Neal had been making progress, so much so that she agreed to meet with him only once a month, now she wondered if too much damage had been done for it to have any meaning to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He turned to her, stared for a second, and raised his brow. “No.”

“Neal, it’s important you talk about what happened.”

“I don’t think you want to know what happened. I’m doing you a favor. Now please, leave me alone.”

Dr. Scott heard his voice; it was defensive as hell, she didn’t blame him though, he had every reason to be. “Last time you didn’t tell anyone. You took on mechanisms that were not healthy--”

“Well _this time_ I don’t want to talk about it either. Maybe next time we’ll try a different approach.”

“Neal, there wont be--”

“A next time?” 

“There won’t be a next time. Agent Burke--”

“I know I'm supposedly a conman, but now I get why Peter wants me to stop doing it. It doesn’t feel good when people lie to your face.”

****

“Give him time,” Dr. Scott said.

Peter shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. He sat down in the uncomfortable hospital chair in the hallway. “I’m so goddamn angry.”

She took the seat next to him. “This is a terrible situation--”

“I’m supposed to protect him! If we never took on that case . . . if I never took him out of jail and let him because my CI. This is my fault!”

“Agent Burke, the man who hurt Neal--”

“Men. The _men_ who hurt Neal.”

“It’s difficult to protect anyone from monsters like that.”

“You don’t understand. He’s my responsibility. It was my job to know if something was wrong! I should have picked up on it. I wanted him to get better so badly…I guess I ignored it, but that doesn’t excuse what happened to him. I should have done something.”

“Neal is manipulative himself, if he didn’t want you to know something was wrong, then you wouldn’t know.”

“This is _not_ his fault Dr. Scott,” Peter said angrily.

“I’m not saying it is, not in any way. Rape victims don’t go around parading the fact they were hurt. They develop strong defenses and mask their pain in ways so people who are trained to detect it can’t.”

Peter didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t need excuses. “I have to go talk to my team.”

****

“What do you mean we’re not the only ones handing this?”

“Special Victims Unit has assigned a Detective, her name is Detective Finn. She deals with catching these sickos,” Diana cut in.

“I know you’re upset, I am too. We’ll get these guys,” Jones said.

“I want to know why Donnie wasn’t being kept tabs on. I told Neal we had Feds on him at all times,” Peter said, shaking his head.

“He was on bail. You know how the system works. We have how many other cases pending? He wasn’t a priority.”

“That’s not an answer!”

Jones and Diana looked at each other, unsure how to proceed. They knew Peter’s anger wasn’t directed at them, it was the situation. “Please . . . just find Donnie and those sons of bitches.”

****

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Detective Finn asked. Neal looked at her; she seemed nice, caring . . . like she actually wanted to find the people who hurt him. He didn’t want to give a statement but he knew he had to. He glanced at Dr. Scott, she smiled that gentle smile at him and he felt a little safer. Then he looked at Peter. He didn’t know if he could say these things in front of him.

“Do you want Dr. Scott and Agent Burke to leave?” she asked.

Neal bit his lip as he thought. He didn’t want to keep secrets from Peter anymore. “No.”

“Okay, take as much time as you need.”

****

_“Look at me, Neal, look at my face. Tell me you love me,” Donnie said as he kissed Neal's neck._

_He kept his eyes shut. He didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to tell him he loved him. He didn’t even like him. Donnie grabbed Neal's face, placed his big claws around his jaw and forced him to turn his head._

_“Open your eyes or else.”_

_So Neal did, afraid of what would happen if he didn’t.  
_

_“Now tell me you love me,” he breathed into Neal's ear. He didn’t say anything, that’s when he got rough. He had been gentle, just like Neal asked him to be the last three times. But now he was making demands, demands that couldn’t be fulfilled. Each second that passed where he didn’t tell him he loved him, Donnie's anger rose. Each thrust was rougher, longer, deeper._

_“St-t-stop,” Neal hissed._

_He didn’t. He kept going. “Look at me and tell me you love me, Neal.”_

_The pain was too much and so finally out of desperation, Neal looked into his sick eyes that were full of lust and insanity, “I love you.”_

_“Say it again.”_

_“I love you.”_

_He thrust one more time and finished, collapsed his entire weight atop of Neal and the scent of his shampoo lingered in his nose. But he didn’t cry, he didn’t move. hH was just relieved it was over._

_“I don’t understand why you don’t just listen to me the first time, Neal. You know I hate having to ask more than once.”_

_“No. No. I--”_

_“Shut up!”_

_Neal went quiet after that. He didn’t want him to get angry. He did bad things when he was angry. “Can I please just leave now?”  
_

_"We’re not done.”_

_A tall, hefty man came in and that's when he got really scared. It had always been just Neal and Donnie, no one else. Neal didn’t really see this person's face, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to have nightmares about him too._

_“Get on your hands and knees,” Donnie said._

_“Please--”_

_“Do it! Or else your landlady might be getting a visitor tonight.”_

_Neal did as he commanded. Oh god how badly he wanted to go home, go to Peter’s and Elizabeth’s, go anywhere but here. He shuddered when large hands grabbed his bony hips and uncut nails dug into his paper thin skin._

_“Now look up at me, Neal,” Donnie said._

_“I . . . I just want to go home. Please . . . it’s just supposed to be you and me--”_

_Donnie grabbed Neal's face and ran his fingers through his hair. “Look at me, I said.”_

_And Neal obeyed, because if he did listen, maybe he'll get to go home. “That’s the second time I had to ask you.” He turned to the monster standing behind him, “Don’t be gentle.”_

_Neal almost collapsed the pain was so great, but the big hands kept him in place. “Now open your mouth and keep your eyes on me.” Neal didn’t want to do that either, for he knew what he was going to do with his mouth. He kept it closed but eventually he creamed in absolute pain and that's when Neal knew he lost. He couldn’t breathe and the tears blurred his vision. When the man was done, he let go of Neal's  hair and clenched his mouth shut. “Swallow it you stupid slut.”_

_Then Donnie knelt down and put his mouth close to Neal's ear, “Tell him to finish.” Neal didn’t get a chance to obey the command before he put his hand around his neck. “Beg him.”_

_As soon as those disgusting words left Neal's mouth, it was over, or so he thought. Donnie told him not to move, to stay right there. When the door opened a third time, Neal knew what was to come. He grabbed the blanket underneath him and tried to pull it over himself._

_“No!” Neal yelled with his eyes shut as someone grabbed his arms and held them over his head.  He felt a second pair of hands hold his legs. He thrashed and squirmed but they were too strong. Neal screamed. He felt the blood coming out of him. They didn’t care. They laughed at him._

_When it was finally over, Neal wanted to cry  but he didn’t. Donnie sat on the bed next to him, and ran his fingers over the scars on Neal's wrist and then over his ribs. His usual cruel smile played on his lips._

_“I hate you,” Neal said firmly as he looked him square in the eyes._

_Donnie kept his fingers on his ribs and grabbed the skin covering them. He leaned in closer. “You’re fat.”_

_That’s when Neal finally started crying._

****

Dr. Scott didn’t hold back her tears as Neal finished describing the ordeal.

"Okay, Neal, thank you," Detective Finn said.

Peter stared hard at the floor. He didn’t dare look at Neal, he knew he would lose his own battle with his tears if he did. He stood up and hastily left the room. As soon as he exited, he collapsed against the wall.

“Hunny?”

“No, Elizabeth. I can’t . . . please just leave me be for a minute.”

Elizabeth knelt down beside her husband. She placed her arms around him. He grabbed onto her and wept. “Oh god, El.”

“Shh . . . they’re bad people. They did bad things.”

“No, you don’t understand. I was supposed to keep him safe! I was supposed to protect him and I didn’t!”

After a few minutes and he was calm enough, he grabbed his phone that was vibrating non-stop. He had a text message from Diana: ' _We found Donnie. Have him in custody, about to put him in the interrogation room."_


	12. Chapter 12

Peter was two feet out the sliding doors when Dr. Lynn, the physician treating Neal at the hospital stopped him. “Agent Burke, please I need to speak with you.”

He glanced at his phone, “Can’t it wait?”

“I’m afraid not.”

****

“Neal, the feeding tube needs to go in,” Peter said.

“I don’t want it.”

“If you don’t --”

“What? I’ll die? So what?”

Peter rubbed his tired eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t say those things. You’re life has meaning. So much meaning.”

“Not to me. I’m nothing but a criminal. You’ve said it many times to me.”

“I was angry when I said those things.”

“Whatever. I don’t want the tube thing”

Peter sighed and looked at Dr. Lynn standing at the door. He nodded. She nodded back and entered along with a male nurse whose arms rivaled the size of Peter’s waist.

Neal's anger suddenly melted and instead his eyes grew wide with fear and confusion. “Wh-what’s going on? Peter, what’s going on?”

“Mr. Caffrey, I know you don’t want the feeding tube but it is necessary to save your life. As a legal ward of the state, Agent Burke is authorized to make medical decisions for you. I’m afraid I am going to have to put one in. It’s not a painful procedure. It will take no more than an hour, you won't feel a thing.”

Neal’s eyes diverted quickly to the nurse, “You’re not touching me!” he yelled as he hoisted himself up and swung his feet over the mattress. Before his toes could touch the floor, the nurse, gently as possible put his hand on his arm.

“Please, Mr. Caffrey, we don’t want to use restraints,” Dr. Lynn said as she snapped on surgical gloves.

“Neal, calm down,” Peter said. 

Neal didn’t calm down, instead his breathing became erratic when he felt the doctor place a numbing agent on his side. He also started to feel lightheaded, he knew they were giving him drugs to  _relax_ him. The nurse placed his hands on Neal’s shoulders and firmly held him down.

“No, please! Please stop! I can’t do it again! I can’t! It will hurt too much!” 

Peter cringed. “Neal, please just relax, we’re not here to hurt you,” he whispered. He wanted to say it louder but he couldn’t. He hated this. They thought they were going touch him, have their way with him. “If you just calm down, the nurse will take his hands off you, I promise.” He ignored Peter and tried to move his arms but he didn’t budge an inch.

“Peter, help me! Please, get them off me! Please, I’m sorry for what I said. I’ll be good, I promise! Please, help me! Help me!” he cried as he searched Peter’s eyes.

Peter opened his mouth but he couldn’t find words at first. He gently grabbed Neal’s hand, “I am trying to help you,” he said softly.

Neal stared at him, shut his mouth and went completely limp. His eyes were full of betrayal, plain and simple. His eyes darted up at the ceiling, he didn’t care that tears were falling down the sides of face.

An hour later, he heard the doctor take off her gloves. “Neal, everything went very well. The area around your stomach might feel a little sore but that’s perfectly normal. Are you feeling okay?”

He didn’t answer.

Peter nodded at Dr. Lynn; she gave him a sad smile and left along with the nurse. “I’m sorry, Neal, it had to be done. Your body really needs the nutrients.”

He still didn’t say anything.

“Please, say something to me, Neal," Peter said. Please.”

Neal calmly turned. Their eyes locked and for the first time Peter became somewhat afraid. The eyes staring at him were calm, completely lucid and dark. “Will you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Leave me alone.”


	13. Chapter 13

Peter stared at Donnie. What he wouldn’t give for his gun to accidentally go off. He felt nauseous being within a foot of this animal.

“I want my lawyer.”

Peter waved his arm at the mirror, indicating to Jones to turn the camera off. He stood up so angry that his chair fell backwards. He walked around the table and stood over him. “Well I want to dismember you, unfortunately we both won’t be getting what we want at the moment.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Donnie said with that insane grin on his face.

“Good, I’m not the one you should be scared of. You’re going away for a long time, and where I plan on sending you is what I would be scared of.”

“Send me away for what? I didn’t do anything.”

“For starters you violated the conditions of your bail. You were to stay away from Neal and you didn’t--”

“Neal loves me. We belong together.”

“He doesn’t love you. No one could love you.”

“Don’t you dare say that! He loves me and I love him.”

“You see, Donnie, that’s how I know you should be scared of where I’m sending you, not to jail but to a goddamn mental institution for the criminally insane. People can do whatever they want to you in there, and no matter how much you scream for them stop, they won't, because everyone will just think you're making it up."

“Neal wanted me to do those things to him.”

“Give it up already, you raped him! You used his body however you pleased! Held him down while he cried! Slapped him when he screamed! Pinned his wrists down when he struggled to get away!”

“He let me do those things. He came to my hotel on his own--”

“After you sent him those texts? That letter!?!? Showed him pictures of me? Of my wife!?”

Donnie’s smile never faltered. “I have more pictures if you want. Neal is very photogenic you know that? Even when he cries. Oh he felt so good, Agent Burke, want me to describe it in detail? Better yet, you want to see the polaroids?”

Peter couldn’t contain himself at this point. He grabbed the bastard’s shirt collar and yanked him out of his chair. He felt a sick relief when he heard a crack as he pushed Donnie into the cement wall behind him. “You sick son of a bitch.”

Donnie exhaled calmly. “You’re jealous of what Neal and I have, aren’t you? That’s why you’re trying to keep us apart. You want him all for yourself. I know how to share though. Interested?"

Peter’s grip tightened, not loosening a bit as Jones tried to pull him away. “Stop talking,” he gritted through his teeth.

The smile spread wider across Donnie’s lips.“I can hold his arms down while you screw him. I won’t even cover his mouth. I’ll let him scream for you. He really likes that. How ‘bout it Burke? You want to hear Neal scream for you?”

“Go to hell, you fucking rapist,” Peter sneered as he let go and threw him to the ground. “Get him out of my sight. Now!”

*****

Neal sighed. He was restless, yet he couldn't sleep; it was frustrating to say the least. Everything hurt too. Physically, his back was burning with desire to lay on anything besides this lump he was on top of, his side hurt where that damn tube was and his head was swimming with the hurtful things he said yesterday to Peter.

But why did he have to go against his wishes and put the feeding tube in? Because he refused to eat that nasty hospital food the 3 days he had been in here? No one wanted to eat that stuff, ever. And who in their right mind would have an appetite after having their body forced upon by a predator? He couldn't understand why no one else could understand that.

He felt bad about making Dr. Scott cry. She was a nice lady, she didn't want to make her sad, but he knew he wouldn't have been able to tell that Detective what happened without holding her hand.

He really wished right now for Peter to come. He replayed in his mind what he said to him but he was angry when he said it, and he really didn't want that nurse touching him; he just wanted someone to listen to him, to what _he_ wanted. However, thinking about all of it, he realized Peter was indeed trying to help him, help him fix this mess he was in, help him get better, help him with everything.

He continued to stare out the window and watched the rain hit the glass. He reminded himself that this wasn't his fault, that's what everyone kept telling him anyways. He wondered if any birds would come by the windowsill any time soon, but he knew they never would; they had probably all flown to a safer place.

****

Peter took a deep breath and entered Neal's room. His eyes were closed but he knew he wasn’t sleeping. “You still want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” Neal whispered. The defeat in his voice seemed to be emphasized. He opened his eyes and studied Peter as he took a seat near the bed. “What’s wrong?”

Peter found the question strange; it was usually _him_ asking Neal what was wrong.

“Are you okay?” Neal asked after he got no response.

Peter smiled the saddest smile one could image and brought his hand over his eyes. He sobbed silently and finally shook his head. “I get it now, really.”

“Get what?”

“Why you did those things. Why you stopped eating. Why you hurt yourself . . . the cutting.”

Neal seemed genuinely startled. By the tears. By the statements. He sighed and admitted honestly, “Peter, I’m sick--”

“No listen to me, Neal. I had to talk to . . . him earlier. Ask him questions. He said things . . . horrible things and I looked in his eyes and for a moment. . . for a moment I imagined what it must have felt like for you. Pinned down, struggling to break free. It was the most terrible feeling I’ve ever had. I know it’s nothing compared to what you went through, not even close . . . but I felt your pain. I really felt it and I wanted to die.”

Neal grabbed his hand that was again covering his eyes. Peter grabbed onto it and looked at the younger man, “I’m sorry, Neal. I’m so goddamn sorry…”


	14. Chapter 14

Donnie could have gotten eleven years in prison, but he wouldn't  give the names of the two other assailants, so he got seventeen instead. It could have been twenty-five, but Neal refused to testify. Peter didn’t push him.

Neal saw Dr. Scott twice a week. He also saw Dr. Andrews twice a week, a very nice psychiatrist who dealt specifically with rape victims. She prescribed him medication. He didn’t take it that often, only when his nightmares refused to quit did he swallow a pill.

Slowly, Neal really started to understand that this wasn’t his fault, it never was. He understood why he starved, why he cut, why he pulled. They were coping mechanism,s but they were very unhealthy ones.

He moved back in with Peter and Elizabeth when he left the hospital. He didn’t mind.

Within three months, Neal started to show some color in his cheeks. He gained fifteen pounds on his own, meaning no one had to shove food in front of him or down him. He ate meals when his stomach told him he was hungry.

There were of course days where he would break down. He would cry, be inconsolable and lie in his blankets for hours, maybe three days at most. Peter and Elizabeth would always sit with him, talk to him, maybe make him laugh, try to turn his black days into grey ones. There were other days where he reached for a razor or his hair, but Peter and Elizabeth would be there to stop him. There was also a day or two where he didn’t eat, where he couldn’t fathom putting a crumb or morsel inside of him, where he put on his running shoes and stretched his limbs before embarking on a ten mile run. Peter and Elizabeth would simply untie his shoes and coax him into holding an apple, just long enough for him to bite into it.

He learned not to fear so much. He learned that Donnie would walk out of prison in seventeen years and the other two monsters walked around free today, but he couldn't fear them, not if he wanted to live.

He also learned that every day was a challenge and was going to continue to be one, but he used to love challenges. He could learn to love them again, he thinks. He was determined to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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